


I am no hero.

by Fukugami



Series: The Frostback Mountains [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragons, F/F, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Gen, Hierarchy, Inquisition, Lore - Freeform, M/M, Mages, Magic, Nobility, Noble game, Other, Pranks, Qunari, Slice of Life, Taint - Freeform, anchor, battles, friendly relationship, mages/templars, nurse & patient, what the hell am i doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fukugami/pseuds/Fukugami
Summary: The attempts of Garret Trevelyan to understand what is going on.And bring peace to Thedas.However, every story does not start on a grandiose way.





	1. Prologue: The Fade

**Run**.

Run, Garret, run.  
The voice above him was soft yet authoritative. It could almost be melodious if this nightmare was... Well, something else than a nightmare.  
Oh Maker, sometimes he could curse himself for the sarcastic comments animating his mouth at the worst moment. His instructors told him countless of times already to stop letting his tongue without supervision.  
They never drifted in a place like this, didn't they ?

He had to get away.

The ache in his lungs remained, along with the burning sensation in his throat, the consequences of a ragged breath and a crazy pace. Though the pain was not even distracting in the least, his feet hitting the ground at a frenetic pace: He had quite a lot on his plate for the present time. Half-hooded eyes, one hand protecting his face from the blinding lights and the stinking fog, Garret could barely see in front of him, tripping on the stones on his way. Everything was a blur, a greenish, pestilential and terrifying blur, as he was struggling to follow his companion through what seemed to him hundred and hundred of --- What even could they be ? Fleas ? Spiders. Pairs of teeths and claws were smacking right behind him, hundred and hundred of creatures following him like his own shadow.  
Let's settle for spiders then.

He had barely seen them, but the sole sight of their gleaming and innumerable eyes scrutinizing his frame from the pits of this hell was not here to comfort him. His gaze went back to focus on his companion, trying to ignore the screaming surge of adrenaline in his veins.  
She was waving at him, her immaculate silhouette bending over him, in a desperate gesture as he was almost reaching her ; she was probably murmuring – or screaming – (how would he know) reassuring words. A low, low rumbling screech echoed in his ears, he could bet it was actually way louder than that, however his heartbeat was the only noise filling the air around him, ringing in his ears, thumping in his trachea like a thunder threatening to tear the sky apart. Suddenly the young man could feel the bare rock scrapping the sole of his foot. _His boot_. He registered the sensation without according much importance to it, while a heavy groan left his lips in a last effort to survive. His hand extended itself, an automatism, towards the woman...

 

And clutched onto the void.


	2. Underground

Thin air in his fist.  
He blinked, slowly, his lips tightly shut and his chest painfully constricted. His vision had to adjust to the low luminosity around him, as well as what seemed to be a ceiling right above him. Maker's breath ! His eyelids bruskly fluttered, contemplating the room he was in with a haggard expression painted on his features. He was manifestly laying on his back, he could vaguely feel a blanket and some hay whenever he pressed his behind on the floor, restrained but alive. That was at least consoling.  
The smell of the Fade lingered over him, yet the abrupt sensation of the stony ground was far more comforting.

No more of the green fog, no spiders, no screeches...  
Only four walls, a humid ceiling, a door and ---

« Oh great. »  
Garret's wrists wriggled for a second, rude manacles trapping his hands into a solid vice. What did he even do this time ? Clear eyes went to wander over the facility, searching for at least a clue, something to situate where has was at least. The cold, the humidity, the jails cells he could make out thanks to the torches' light... Fereldian ? That seemed like a style he knew. Hnng. After an unsuccessful attempt at crawling, the man had to stop and after glancing a few meters away, he could distinguish bottles, vials, a basin, some fabrics. Not that old, they were not covered by a thick layer of dust like the barrels over there. and through his stuffed nose, he could almost smell the fragrance of elfroot.  
That was odd.

So he was not alone in this forgotten basement.  
Nice.  
Well, not that nice. His face scrunched a little, an intense reflection agitating his thoughts. At least he was trying to think, to remember what happened before this charming awakening. His memories were confused, puzzled, he muttered a curse, it was like a bad dream you could barely remember when you woke up in the morning. After a groan, Garret decided to actually achieve something. The soreness of his muscles extirpating him a gruff, the sorcerer, despite the dizziness and a lack of balance, managed to stand upright. His abs were contracted to the point they were aching and burning but at least, he was no longer lying down like a rag doll. Still sitting down, his head felt somewhat light but the blood quickly flew back to his members and by the same way, cleared his mind.  
It was the Fade, for sure. He must have been dreaming, yes, all the way. But whenever he dreamt, it was usually very still, peaceful; it was dreams about home, fields, the stables of the castle. Not disgusting creatures, no chasing and especially not the feeling of impending death. This time had been a nerve-wracking experience.  
Despite the cuffs, he managed to rub his face from the tips of his bruised fingers, massaging the bridge of his nose, brushing away the unruly strands of ginger hair from his temple. Some dignity, at least he hoped.

« Garret, Garret, Garret... what are you even doing here, boy ? »

The Conclave.  
The picture of the Temple of Sacred Ashes jumped into his fuzzy mind. Yes, Ferelden, meeting... Another laborious effort led him to the memory of the mountains, the cold, icy mounts surrounding the Temple. The Frostback Mountains.  
That would explain the cold and the rustic appearance of his cell.

If he was not scared as he was right now, Garret would gladly laugh at the thought of being cuffed away in an unknown and cold basement ; it kind of seemed like the start of a dirty joke to him. Though it would not be an agreeable excess of hilarity.  
Garret Maven Trevelyan was man to laugh at everything, and very often at the wrong time, probably a side effect to his magic condition. Well, that was his excuse. An overused one but hey, at least it worked on girls. Not that he met a lot of girls anyways.

Yet today, the funny chap of Ostwick was not _that_ enthralled. If this was a prank, that was not a good one. And the sting of fear started to really get to him. As a mage, he needed to be good at controlling his emotions and stay calm. Except in this kind of scenario.

And as soon as Garret decided to relax his bruised frame, something unexpected wrested a lament from him. He could not even massage what he assumed to be a tingling hand. Oh, was he wrong. Appalled by the sharp pain stabbing his palm, he could only stare at it, lips ajar and his pupils widening with utter shock and ignorance.

« Andraste's buttoc... Andraste's.. Just – what the hell... Hnn. »  
In an effort to ease the pain radiating from his hand, he curled up as far as he could, blocked in his manoeuver by the piece of wood jailing his appendages. What even... The thoughts he had a hard time to sort out were now spilling again inside his mind, colliding with each other and sparkling in him more questions. Thousand more.  
Narrowing his eyes, he crooked his neck, trying to comprehend what was going on with his hand. A green halo had englobed his skin, like a lightining striking a piece of land, and trailing on the calloused palm, a white track sinuated deep. It left his body tingling, similar to the sensation of electricty running in your flesh; but that was still different from when you cast a Chain Lightning... The source of this crap ? He would not even know what kind of phenomenon it was. Probably magic but still –

He jerked his head, his loose hair bouncing, and his gaze swift and attentive.  
The mage heard right, a sound of footsteps was reverberating outside, in what seemed to be a long corridor ; frowning, the young lad quickly dropped all sarcasm and witty comments to entirely concentrate on what was going to happen in front of him. nobody restrained your freedom like this without a good reason. And with all the shit happening in Thedas, he mused, being a mage would not really help his case.  
So, lips shut and tranquil looking despite the tension of his muscles, Garret welcomed his guest. If he was a prisoner, he was not going to give them a show.

 

* * *

 

 

When they entered the dimly lit room, he had to muster all the strength he had in him not to rise a brow. Two women had stepped in, no guards, no squadrons. Just the two of them.  
That was strange. When you captured an Apostate... You usually lined up a whole group of Templars behind the door, but if his ears worked well, that was not the case. This kept becoming weirder and weirder.

« Tell me why we should not kill you now. »  
The taller woman was speaking. Her tone was harsh, vindictive. He could feel the tension and sheer anger dripping from her posture ; that was not a good thing. Her short jet black hair were tousled, as if she had runned her hand through and through to conjure a good idea ; the mage felt anguish nesting in his stomach, forgetting about the pain running in his own digits, as the next sentence she uttered started sinking into him. Oh yeah. Kill him. That was something to think about. He had to bite back the witty, well, snarky comment he was about to pronounce. Being sarcastic in this type of situations never served him right, Maker, he should have learnt the lesson by now. He breathed slowly, looking intently to his interlocutor.

«  The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. »  
The Conclave... He remembered, parts of it alas. How could one destroy such a holy building ? Especially during dark times such as the ones they were walking in. The Assembly, the negociations, Divine Justinia V, the convocation... Images flashed in his mind, reminding him of the endless ranks of Templars entering the parvis and the crowds of Mages prudently massed there. The lights playing on the metal of their armours and the vivid colours o their banners against the dusty hues of their robes, and the insults... Maker, it was such a frightening instant, even for him, a representative. Only one though filled their soul to the core : _Protect me against them_. Garret was actually willing to bet it was the same for the warriors of faith stationed in front of them. Kirkwall had left indelible marks on whole Thedas.  
But destroyed ? How was it even possible... The security was so strict. He even had to give up his weapons.

Was it a joke ?  
A glance towards the face of the stronger built woman was enough to convince him that it was not. And the anguish became a frozen spear. His chest started heaving and a chill sweat trickled down his neck. Fingers would curl and uncurl in a nervous fidgetting.

« Except for you. »  
The look on her face was far from being compassionate. Brutally the realisation dawned on him.

« You think I'm responsible for it ? »  
The Divine was also gone. The sweat pouring down his back and the slight shake of his legs were becoming a quake. Far from being the contained and composed tone he had planned, he had spouted those words, his eyes widening at the implication this sentence could have. Suddenly swallowing his saliva became an ordeal, his throat tightening under an imaginary noose.  
The head of the Chantry, dead. The only survivor... This did not improve when the brunette, the taller one, went on him to pull on his left hand. Was she aware of it ? The painful sensation was back, and the green spark flared to life again a few centimeters from his nose. And under the halo, he could barely detect any sensitivity on her traits. She looked like someone who had lost it all.

« Explain THIS !  
\- I cannot. »  
And it was the truth. From the moment he entered the Holy Temple, his brain had went blank. Nothing, not even a sound, not even a flash of colour to explain this.. Thing on him.  
  
« What do you mean, you can't ?  
\- I – don't know what that is, or even how it got there !  
\- You're lying ! »

Her voice amplified in his ears and he caught her arm rising in the air. Panicked, he closed his eyes as hard as he could, bracing for the impact of her blow. Yet nothing came.  
Coyly, his eyelids fluttered and the second person he had completely forgot about was in front of him. Her figure was hooded, but she was lither, smaller than the impetuous and raging lass. Muttered exchanges, imprecations... Nonetheless the smaller one managed to take the hand and pushed her companion further.

« We **need** him, Cassandra. »  
Compared to the other, her voice was clipped, abnormally calm. If it was possible to scare him further, she seemed like the perfect person; the way she did not look at him made his chest tighten with unease. Garret was not a scaredy cat, far from that, but the gravity and the sharpness of their tongues was not helping him to keep his composure whatsoever.

« I cannot believe it. All those people... Dead. »  
Why was he even here ? He was inside the Temple right ? His jaw was contracted, his eyebrows knitted together under the ruffle fringe of his hair. Still inside his mind, he hoped it was one sick joke, something he would wake up from and be able to laugh after his breakfast. He gulped, the bitter taste of bile on his tongue and the back of his throat.   
He knew people there.   
As a representative, he even had a small escort with him.. Did it mean they also were...

« Do you remember what happened ? How this began ? The smaller one pursued, right in front of him, but with the luminosity He could not quite clealry see her face. But he learned one thing : they did not seem the prankster type. And that was not to reassure him, stones falling into his abdomen.  
\- I remember – running. »  
The jagged edges of the mountains, the foul smell, the beasts...

« Things were chasing me. And then, a woman.»  
A woman ? Clearly she was not believing him in the slightest, seeing how she crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
« She reached out to me, but then... »  
The strongest one, Cassandre, he believed, moved again in his sight. And much calmer, her voice still kept her authoritative intonation.

« Leliana, go to the forward camp. I will take him to the rift. »  
The rift ? Here he thought he could not get anymore confused. Leliana barely looked at him and left, for this... forward site or whatever she called it. Her firm hands caught his manacles, and propelled by her strength, the mage managed to get up. His legs were sore and wobbly, and his outfit – as he quickly looked over it – full of grime and mud... And goo.

« What did happen ?»

His voice came out meekly, far from the cocky accents he used to employ. His anxiety was genuine, and it would be relieved, seeing as she unlocked the manacles only to tautly tie his tender wrists. She was not going to let him go, he assumed, repressing a groan of discomfort. Nobody would. He was the sole survivor of the destruction of the Conclave. Hundreds and hundreds of people had died, the Divine was no more, the negociations screwed, war was on the brink of starting again... And all the Apostates, starting by him, were at stake.  
Golly, was he fucked now ? Would he feel bad about all of this ? He did. But survival instinct was quickest to rule.  
  
« It will be easier to show you. »

Cassandra had coiled the rope around her own wrist, and her frame seemed strong enough to resist him, and he had no staff at hand. Wait... Wait a second, they did not speak about magic yet ? Well, apart from the weird mark on his hand. The rope had an advantage, he could finally look at him closely, without craning his neck like crazy.  
Still odd.  
  
On his left palm, a scar had florished. Half way between a cut and a burn, apparently. It was hard not to be fascinated and revulsed. It had stopped flaring though, marking his skin like any other cicatrix.  
That was strange. 

  
He would have assumed that being a mage was the problem at first; they were not exactly appreciated at the moment, and it would not improve, considering what happened. Chewing the inside of his freckled cheek, he considered for a moment to speak up, ask what they would do to him. Once they had contemplated the mess he was attributed responsability, what would he become ? Oh, the knot of his guts tightened again, preventing him to breathe.   
The death of the Divine and the rupture of the peace negociations, all of it would most likely fall onto his neck, figuratively as literally. He could feel the sharp edge of the sword on his skin.

Yet the mark seemed to interest them more. Well, he could not blame them. Garret himself did not even know what to do with that, and frankly, until he had no other informations, he would leave at that. More pressing affairs were lining up !

So. Show him what ? What did happen ? The destruction of the Holy Temple had probably left ruins and ruins over the moutain, but he felt inside of him that it was perhaps not the only thing unnerving the two women who interrogated him. Whatever. He would be hold responsible apparently and this prospect sufficed for him. He walked a few steps, rather content to apparently be intact ; the cogs and gearwheels in his mind already working hard to find him a way to get out of this bloody mess. They exited the room, alleviating slightly the chest pain and the painful constriction of his stomach. A flight of stairs, mercilessly pulled forward by Cassandra who barely guided Garret, the mage limped his way through the corridor, through the obscure hall and finally...

 

  
  
« Maker's Breath. »  
  
The exclamation was muffled by his clenched teeth.  
Nothing could have prepared him to this spectacle.

Nothing.


	3. Contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> &&. We switch !  
> From Garret to Taymir, we will see another point of view from Haven and the catastrophe.

 

_It could be beautiful._

 

It could be majestic even.

Torn open, the sky was contradicting the most infantile belief : the Maker and His beloved Wife Andraste were nowhere to be seen. Instead of the tender gaze they all hoped to receive from Them, nothing. Only the grey firmament, shredded into pieces, the clouds drifiting away from the epicenter, lit by this infernal bloom of green : not the soft green of the moss, nor the vibrant and glamorous gleam of the emerald.. This green was pagan, it was evil, magic.  
Despite the feeling of dread, despite the danger, a subtle fascination inspired the ones still alive and as they tried carrying on their duty, rescue the injured and appease the pain of those passing away, their eyes frequently lift up to contemplate the sky. Only to get scolded and ordered to go back to work, whether by the soldiers or by their own will.

 

The **Rift** , that's what they were calling it.

A rift. That was a good way to put it, slightly off because when you talked about a rift in itself it happened to be narrow, a gap. When you glanced at the sky, it was more of a tear, an open wound, bleeding. It was ugly yet beautiful, and more likely to be the beginning of the end. Of course. Because nobody, not even the Chantry appeared to know how to mend it.  
Finally quitting her silent contemplation, the frail girl let her gaze embrace the camp in front of her. The village she inhabited for five years now. A deep silence floated on Haven, and not the fervent silence you could taste after a ceremony at the Chantry or at night, when people slumbered. It was a different sort of silence, a lid weight, so heavy it could practically suffocate you ; the only sounds you could hear were the commands barked at the soldiers, the macabre calculation of the victims, names, different names. It would not be too long until her own name would echo in the cold air, she was whispering to herself as the bell, usually ringing for the offices, rang for whatever they had to communicate. Better get going before getting a earful of whoever seemed in command here. So with a leap, she climbed down the hill, sliding on the frozen snow, and a bundle of herbs on her hips, made her way into the village.

People barely lifted their chin at her passage. They were so lively before.  
Her lips tightened. Of course, why would they look at her, or anyone else at all ? It implicated seeing the pain, the grief on another face. Why would you revive your own suffering while trying desperately to occupy your mind at carrying, trading, cooking, washing bandages, carry messages, praying... The Chantry Sisters were everywhere, yet so few of them... The young woman's heart was heavy and her fingers nervously toying with an elfroot leaf peaking out of her pack, she advanced slowly towards the heart of their community, the Chantry. The other Sisters, the Mothers, and even the lay sisters...  
They all had gone to the Temple, to present their vows and respects to the Divine Justinia V, as expected from the fidel servants of the Maker and her Beloved. And here everybody thought this was finally the opportunity to end the hostilities, to reason both parties, to end the madness gnawing on their cities. Kirkwall had led to the revolution, but it was a foregone situation and not even Justinia could have prevented it. Not until the last straw, not until everything was consummated.

 

* * *

 

 

« Serah  ? »  
A feeble voice interrupted her train of thought, that was truth to be told rather depressing. Shake your head, plaster a smile and behave like you have at least some control over this mess, would you ? A voice in her head started to whisper how late she would get, but luckily, she never listened to that voice very long.   
And that was what she did, her thick braid brushing against her muddy dress as she knelt on the snow, a warm grin folding her lips for the child to see. Such a skinny thing, her alert eyes registering the sight in front of her with a tinge of sadness; the boy was probably eight... Ten at most, and skinny, oh so skinny, she could almost feel the bones of his hand when she caught it in a maternal hold. His brown hair had not seen a brush for days, nor his nose a handkerchief -- she sighed while she untied her scarf and nimbly wiped his face.  
  
« Serah..  
\- You know you can call me by my name, I ain't gonna eat you.»  
She hoped the slight teasing could coax the child out of his posture. He was currently curled up in a ragged blanket, under the stalls Seggrit used for his wares, sheltered from the freezing wind by some wooden crates. And still alone. His face was emaciated, food was rationed, even for the smallest one (this thought was enough to knot her stomach in exasperation), and hopeful, big black eyes were staring at her. He was hungry.  
  
« Let's trade something. And she chuckled seeing how his chin perked up at the mention of an exchange.  
\- What ?  
\- I have.. A piece of jerky. You want it ? »  
  
Should she ask if he wanted a new toy, it would have had the same effect on the chetive lad, his fingers exited from his sleeves and came up to her nose with grabby motions. She could bet he was gushing as well, yet she did not even mention it, simply rummaging through her pockets to find the only meal this boy could have today. It was small, but at least, it was something he could fill his tummy with. It was druffalo meat, salt meat, and thick under the tooth. Still better than the old leather bands some of the elders were chewing on.  
  
«Do you think you'll manage to actually call me by my name, Biron ? »  
His eyes widened, the request being singular. However the hunger was stabbing his stomach in such a way that he did not have a second thought about it.  
  
« Yes, Serah Taymir.  
\- Now that was an awesome beginning, isn't it ?»  
Not exactly what she wanted, though Biron had fulfilled his end of the bargain. Hastily she handed him the reward, which had barely the time to jump from one hand to the other to be honest. It was almost as it jumped straight into the famished mouth of the small boy. Maker, but there were dozens like him, crawling behind the barracks, sleeping under fabrics cobbled together to replace a tent or a decent shelter. They all were dying of hunger, cold.. And terror.

 

She remembered it all too well. The sky had flashed green, all of the sudden, and a cracking sound exploded in the sky. it sounded like a detonation, and almost like a fabric you ripped apart; such an odd sound, but it definitely sent chills down her spine, even from memory. The sound that followed was the thousand screams escaping their throat, the shattering mess of their tools hitting the ground, the stones of the Temple crumbling down and slipping down the slopes... Some pieces had even been sent way over the mountain by the sheer force of the catastrophe. Quickly the rumors had come to their village, at this time a halt for the pilgrims, a blessed land where they could rest and pray. The rumors told everyone died, they told it was a disaster, the people died, their corpses disintegrated within the flames and the blast. The Divine died.  
She remembered that as well. All of them had fallen to their knees, wailing, shouting, crying. The head of the Chantry, the only institution that kept Thedas from falling apart was no more, leaving thousands and thousands of fidels without a lead nor a mother to guide them. That was perhaps the scariest part of the story.   
  
Taymir was now walking, climbing the small stairs leading to the main building of Haven, her grey eyes detailing without really seeing them the faces around her.  
Whispers, mutters, curses, a clamor was rising among the people, those who waited patiently (or not so patiently) on the parvis, their attention fixated on the closed wooden gates; the young lass would shake her head, coming back to her senses and with a quirk of her thin eyebrows, she tried clearing a path. Her height was actually helping, being tall and lanky, she had no struggles to see where she had to go, yet pushing people out of her ways was not much to her taste.  
Gently, her hands came onto some shoulders, brushed some arms, and very calmly apologized. She had to go to the Chantry, and she would not be stopped a few meters from it. It had the expected effect, some of the men and women went silent as soon as they caught her, moving from her path with still an unscrutable expression on their features. Loosening the knot of her cloak, dropping the hood, Taymir presented herself to the guards.  
Before all that, she was able to wander around quite freely. However she understood the reasons of their presence at the strategic spots of Haven. Chantry, cabins, fortifications...  
Still that was something she was not used to, truth to be told.   
Neither were they, apparently. They looked so young under their helmets ! She waited, patient and resigned in front of them, knowing what was taking them so long to finally open the doors for her.  
Their gaze trailed over her visage, over her marred skin, her neck, the top of her bust between the folds of her cape and her collar; no shame went to adorn her cheeks, no blush, no embarass, the woman let them do as they pleased, aware of their reactions did she keep her hood over her fair hair.  
  
Their curiosity was not ill-spawned, after all.  
Splitting her face in half, a reddish scar ran on her freckled skin. From her forehead to her jaw, spilling on the pale skin of her neck, the mark was definitely visible no matter how you looked at it. It was not the only marks, but this one was just so striking that when you saw her for the first or the tenth time, you could not miss it, even if it meant staring without much of restrain.   
She was used to it.  


 « We cannot let you in, Serah.  
\- I need to see someone.  
\- We have no orders. »  
They were done looking at her, avoiding any kind of eye contact with the disfigured woman.  
  
« Messere, I need to pass. I have some materials for the d --- »  
The jolt shaking her body at the sudden door opening would have been hilarious if the matter was not pressing and serious. The crowd stood on their toes as the one in front of them was no other than...  
  
« Sister Nightingale !  
\- We have to go to the Forward Camp. Now. Scouts, lead the way, we need to get there as quick as possible.  
\- And the prisoner...  
\- With Lady Pentaghast.»

And the curt glare of the hooded woman was enough to stop any questions the guards probably had on the tip of their tongues. 

* * *

 

So she had no hope to get in.  
Crouched on the snowy ground, Taymir patiented among the refugees, the town people and the soldiers in station.   
She was a woman of words, and when someone - as it happened the Apostate they recruited - asked for herbs, she would provide. Tilting her head from a side to the other, her gaze still scrutinizing the Chantry, she had decided to wait until she would either be invited to enter or she could sneak in. She could leave the elfroot and the decoctions outside, ask a messenger or even a random soldier to bring the bundle in and tada. Job done. But, truth to be told, she was rather curious.   
When the red-haired woman mentioned his existence, which was not the case until then since it was left to speculations (probably until they could put a proper explanation onto all of this), Taymir had to keep her tiers tightly shut.

 

  
  
This had been required the first time she entered the building, three days ago.  
  



	4. A quaint company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> &&.  
> Garret makes his way up to the mountain.  
> At least we have a hero in Cassandra.

«We call it the  **Breach**. »

Oh, he heard that one right.  
Past the first minute of mixed fear, awe, and a terrible desire to run away, Garret was able to study the phenomenon (though  _study_ was a big word). Cassandra was on the threshold, her gaze attached to the massive hole shredding the sky apart; her nose was wrinkled, sign of disgust.  
He got her, even his own stomach couldn't feel another way at the vibe he was getting from this breach.

«It is a massive rift into the world of demons, that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift, just the largest...»

And there she lost him.  
Listen, he was not a coward. Not someone to run away from responsabilities. Quite the opposite actually, he was a feisty man. However, being confronted to this... Mess, hassle, catastroph, apocalypse, he didn't even know which word to attribute to this, was way above his competences. He was scared, if he could go back to sleep and wake up, he would not say no to that; and his anxiety kept rocketing through the roof at which new piece of information.   
  
The Conclave was annuled. Okay.  
Oh, and by the way, the Temple has been blasted. Cool.  
And the Divine was dead. That's even better.  
Demons though.  
  
Internal monologue at its finest. At this point, he could almost lose his ability to care, just to avoid feeling too harshly the sting of fear viciously jabbing his insides. Breathe in, breathe out. Don't fret. You're still alive. Not for very long apparently but.. Come on !  
You're a mage, for Maker's sake ! You already had been confronted to this, to the Fade. It's no news for you. Your Harrowing was long ago, but it would not be that bad right ?  
The words of Cassandra came back to his ears, as he was trying to focus again on her explanations.   
  
«Do you really believe an explosion can.. Cause that ?  
\- This one did. Cassandra looked at him for an moment, stern and grave. Unless we act now, the break may grow until it swallows the worl --- »  
She did not finish her sentence. A cry could be heard through his gritted teeth. Again, a surge of green light envelopped his left hand, fiercely piercing through his callused flesh. Compared to the previous times, the pain was pronounced, more intense and led his wobbling legs to definitively cease to obey; Garret's knees hit the ground, unable to catch anything and avoid his fall, the threads hampering his movements.  
  
«Each time the Breach expands...»  
Through his teary eyes, the young man could see the braided hair of his companion, and soon enough he could feel the very firm grip of her hands over his arm. 

«Each time it expands, your mark spreads.» Cassandra's impassible gaze vrilled his own, a way to ensure his complete attention. «And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn't much time.  
\- So you.. You still think I'm guilty ? You still think I did this ? To myself»  
  
Garret hoped his voice didn't come across as croaky and weak, the pain leaving his hand. Little by little he started to acknowledge what was there: the hole in the sky, the fact that he was branded with a kind of magic he never saw nor read about, and that, of course, he was a prisoner. Maker, that was a lot for a day. But he could pity himself later, he absolutely had to convince this.. Cassandra of his innocence. How a single Mage could blow up the Chantry though ? That was so unlikely, but this _adorable_ lady seemed so convinced he was the one to blame.  
  
«Not intentionally.» So she was actually giving him the benefit of the doubt, he mused while his heart felt a tidbit lighter. «Something clearly went wrong.  
\- And if you find out I am not responsible ?  
\- Someone is.» He could feel her eyes hardening.« And you are our only suspect. You were there, you were in the crater. You wish to prove your innocence, right ? This is the only way.  
\- If I do what you want, he gulped, will I live through it ?»  
  
Cassandra paused, looking away for a short instant, before admitting:  
  
«We have no way of knowing.»  
He went back on his feet, helped by the warrior (she had a long sword tied to her side, and her hand rested on it too often for his own taste). They started to walk, in a thick silence.  
The way the people looked at him made him shudder. They were everywhere. Elderly and kids massed against the walls of the Chantry, and the others, either sheltered under the makeshift tents or inside the small cabins, staring at the duo from the windows. Famished, grimy, they looked severely traumatised for the most of them, Garret realized, carefully sticking to Cassandra.  No weapons in sight but still, his escort was alone. As if she read his thoughts, she spoke up:  
  
«They have decided your guilt. They need it, the people of Haven mourn our most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers, it was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now they're dead.»  
The ginger haired man prefered to remain silent, for safety.   
The gates opened before them, without the need to address any orders. The brunette was well known, apparently  && once they passed them, exiting the town, she made him stop.  
  
«We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, just like She, Justinia, did. Until the breach is sealed.» And a metallic gleam attracted his eyes, until then listening carefully to whatever his protector and gaoler was saying. «There will be a trial.»  
  
Astonished, Garret watched her cutting the ropes with a swift gesture, before the dagger disappeared once again in her sleeves. Rubbing his wrists, he rose an eyebrow at her.  
  
«A trial ?  
\- I can't promise more than this. now come, it's not far.  
\- Where are you taking me ?  
\- Not far, I already told you. We need to test your mark.» Her chin pointed at his hand as they started walking again. «It must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.»

* * *

 

Everything was covered by rubbles, stones and dirty snow.  
The bridge was nowhere from being in a good shape, he clenched his teeth, the blast had been catastrophic. At their passage, a few soldiers lifted their head. Some of them were wounded, holding themselves to the damaged parapet; the iron of their helmet embedded in their skin, dried blood on their shirt and all over the lower haves of their faces, their lost expression, it awoke his relentless nausea.   
The Chant of Light was recited on the other side. Few people were staying near the Brother, chanting the verse with an ardent fever while some others were on the ground, weeping softly. For their Mother and their brothers who lost their lives three days ago; three days... When Cassandra told him, he looked at her, bemused. Three days, and the Breach was still growing, no wonder they were so intent of finding a culprit.   
Garret did his best to avert his attention from a pile of bloody sheets. Ignoring the corpses here, he was not sure if it was a sensible thing to do but he did not need anymore reminder of the situation he was in.   
  
They hurried up on the hill, trying not to mention the lifeless bodies halfly buried in the snow; scarlet stains sullied the ground, among robes, scarves and trinkets - what he assumed to be enchanted necklaces but stopping by to loot them would be far too suspicious and time-eating. Mages. A lot of them. He saw little soldiers by now..  
He opened his mouth, for a genuine question.  
  
«Ahh.. Hn.»  
Once again he fell to his knees, the flash of pain too hard to endure. Even if it was short, the manifestation of this unknown magic was unbelievably stingy; he was used to deal with different spells, different applications yet this was a total novelty. And not the pleasant kind. His forehead touched the snow, finding a mere comfort in the cold sensation. His skin was burning and sweaty through the efforts and probably three days of struggle; Cassandra's voice came to his ears, muffled by his own turmoil:  
  
«The pulses, they are coming faster.» He had like, two, three, no even more recurrences since he awoke in Haven. «The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear and the more demons we face.  
\- How did I survive the blast ? As soon as he was back onto his feet, his flesh still tingling but very much alert, the man ran after the warrior. How does only one person come out of it alive ?   
\- I don't know ! They said you.. Stepped out of a rift..  
\- A rift ? But that's not possible ! You said it yourself, only demons come from these shitho.. Sorry, _rifts_.  
\- Well, apparently you did.» She shot him a suspicious glare. « Then you fell unconscious. And -- they say that a woman was there, in the rift, right behind you. No one knows who she was.»  
  
A silence fell between them.  
Then he said the truth, right ? People had actually saw the woman he was rambling about earlier, then why were they still acting leery towards him ? He huffed, disregarding everything else on a selfish urge. Another bridge came in sight, the soldiers welcoming them without sympathy, but at least they did open the gate.  
  
«Everything farther in the valler was laid waste, no tracks of the woman. It includes the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you'll see soon enough.  
\- What ? If there is this Breach, or the rift, or whatever it is, how can you be so sure I would be of any help ?» The fear was back, forcing his voice into a hoarse exclamation; the lack of response in front of him incited him to pursue. «Because last time I checked, I have been jailed, cuffed, threatened once, threatened twice, prodded, pushed outside, walked around, untied...  
\- I got it.»  
  
Her voice was sharp and cold. She apparently didn't like to be bossed around. Dully noted.  
«When we found you, you were barely alive. In fact, you should be happy that we found you. You are in far better shape than few days ago.  
\- I do, I am grateful. B...  
\- Anyways, less talking, more walking. I promised you a trial, nothing more. So stay alive until then.»

 

* * *

 

The last thing he remembered was an aggressive light. He was following Cassandra, meditating over the woman from the rift (he had not been dreaming, he was sure of that), and suddenly the bridge and the men stationing were lit by an intense green flash. A stiffling sound in the air and.. Nothing.  
  
«On the ground again.»  
This was going to be a habit isn't it ? He could not help grumbling, once again laying flat on the frozen river, this hellish sky over him. It was once more a catastroph. This time it was colder, and wetter. Fragments, bits and pieces, rubbles... However he had no time to weighten on this, a very familiar smell infiltrating his nostrils. Something he did not really expect so soon, truth to be told and swiftly (or at least he tried to be), Garret went back up, adrenaline pumping through his veins.  
_Oh Maker, I hate this._  
  
Shades were, by essence,  _shadows_.  
No face, no voice except the infernal hissing, vaguely formed arms... A dark and gooey cloak over their hideous frame. They were not a dangerous kind of demon, yet when you were alone against one, it could easily degenerate into an unbalanced fight. His bodyguard was already there, shield in hand and her sword drawing large semi-circles around her; she could not get too close, or the ill-made claws could attain her, but the nature of her skills forced her to assail it the best she could.   
His hands felt furiously useless and empty, the grunts of the warrior a few meters from them indicating he would be quite a nice addition to her forces. He needed to help.  
Embracing the whole pile of rubbles, he searched for something able to help him. Some crates were ripped open, spilling their contents on the ice. Even a sword, something sharp... Or look a stick could help, like this one.   
  
Like -- this one.  
His hand did not hesitate any longer and grabbed the wooden shaft. Sparkles flew around at his contact, then without a second thought, Garret plunged forward.  
  
«MOVE !»  
The reaction on the combatant's face was priceless, if he ever had time to peer at her. Especially when a buzzing lightning brushed her temple to go straight into their adversary, followed by another one, almost at light speed. Luckily she had picked up, maintaining her shield up to protect herself from any hazardous hit. And at the second he stopped, her sword brutally appeared to penetrate the monster until the hilt.  
He was shaking, not from the fear.   
His digits were supple, twirling the baton like it was only a feather during his incantation. Sheer energy started exsuding from him: his hands, his feet, his shoulders... Every inch of his body was producing this white matter, spiraling above his frizzing hair and making the air sizzle around them.  
  
«Eeeh !» The moment he released the salva, the mage felt the recoil all too well, and sent all the way back, he could only find his breath to warn his counterpart. «Go for it ! Last strike !»  
Did she agree ? Or even nod to his request ? Well, he could not know. The recovery on his two feet was compromised yet Garret achieved this exploit (he wouldn't fall again on the ground, thrice in a day was humiliating enough), and as soon as he could, he directed his gaze over the other with this time a gleam of satisfaction lighting up his face. Under Cassandra's feet, a puddle of ectoplasmic matter or whatever they called it anyways. That was good ! At least they were rid of...  
  
« **YOU**.»  
Wrong script.  
  
"You. Drop your weapon. NOW."  
Curiously the apex of her sword on his throat was a valid point, he thought, before slowly extending his arm toward her. He should have know that being a mage inevitably would lead to such unfortunate end.  
  
«Alright ! Have it your way.»  
He would gladly add the "And let me keep my head on my shoulders for the day", though he feared it would be too much for the nervous warrior in front of him. So with an unsettling grin on his freckled features, he stood still, waiting for her to accomplish what she had in mind.  
His surprise was then total when she seemed to reconsider the question.

"Your life is threatened enough as it is. And I cannot protect you all the time, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless as well.  
\- That's actually a great idea.   
\- ... Don't make me regret this.»


	5. The more, the merrier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> &&. Garret makes new friends.  
> So proud of you.
> 
> Cassandra still being a badass, and slowly, a way out of this mess starts appearing.  
> And it will involve a lot, a lot of grunts.

«So you mean we need to find the others.  
\- Right.  
\- Who are they exactly ?  
\- You will see.»  
  
More enigmatic than her, you could not. Breathless, he wiped his chin from all the gore, not daring to question her further since she looked rather ticklish when he tried pushing her boundaries; he could only wonder what were the others, specifically. And why such a mystery around them !   
They had crossed the way of many Shades, lesser and greater, and spirits. That was rare to see them, even for a Mage. Belonging in Ostwick, his companions usually stayed safe inside the institution, and at the exception of their confrontation, their initiation, they rarely saw any kind of demon or evil being. Templars watched over them zealously.  
Rumors of a fight, beyond the crest, and the shift in Cassandra's expression was enough for him to understand what was really going on.

« Quick ! We need to help them !»  
The show taking place in front of him confirmed her assumptions: they had to help. Firstly his attention was drawn to the shiny green rift floating mid-air: it was so weird. It looked halfway between a burning flame and sprouting cristals, and throbbing, the phenomenon did not shrink in any way. At the contrary, it was well developed, and from the slit, in a way he could not apprehend, demons fell through to assail the combatants. The latter weresix, seven, Garret could not see well in his haste. Fortunately for him, he had been authorized to keep the staff over his back, and without any hesitation his arm went for it.  
His first shot pierced through the crowd, reducing a shade to dust. The second had no qualms ripping a gangly demon's jaw, only to be joined by the sharp blade of Cassandra; arrows kept flying right in front of him, missing the tip of his nose by a few millimeters. Here he thought he was a precise fighter, he had to admit that whoever was behind this was quite good ! Spin, retreat and shoot an elemental charge.

« Seeker, to your right !»  
New voices. They apparently knew each other. Sweat pouring down his temples, Garret did not care so much about these facts, finding a way to go through these waves of demonics shits was on top of his priority list -- with staying alive & escape, of course. Surprisingly enough, his body had a will on its own, the mage was amazed at the defense he could pull. They did not teach this back in the Circle, or they made you learn some spells that could merely help, only defensive spells and under the tight control of the Enchanters and the Templars. Never did he fight in open space like he was now, and this feeling was truly galvanising. The ginger haired sorcerer only had to focuse on the mana spending part.  
After a few offensives, Garret found out that his fuel was burning way too quickly, he needed to organize himself better. His muscles still sore had found a new strength in the continuous flow of stamina and adrenaline, but as a magician, he knew these reserves were not endless. He had to end it quick... However these demons kept coming. They could kill ten, and twenty surged out of this tiny breach. Breathless, Garret frantically shook his head. One of the soldiers was down, the greenish limbs of an entity around their throat, while their colleague was nowhere to be seen. At least he had the satisfaction to see a fire ball crash onto his lifeless head, setting ablaze the whole thing; a fit of laughter threatened to escape. Maker, that was the last ! he spat out those words, scanning the area to find any demons left.  
  
The deafening hum was unexpected. Everybody still standing up looked up at the rift, startled by what they were seeing: it expanded. Well, that was what he thought, since a geyser of particules was cascading from the aperture: why would it behave like that ? A sudden contact on his hand almost made him shriek in surprise, as well as moan in pain when he felt his limb bruskly whipped up, palm towards the sky for an experiment he never believed he would witness. The pain of his hand, muted for some minutes now, was back in full intensity but that was different, something felt different yes. As if the pain that normally radiate from the scar and went _in_ him, this time went _from_ him, resulting in an epic ray of light directly aiming at the core of the rift.   
His strength was drained, his mana sucked into this mayhem, whereas, to the general awe, something was happening. It appeared to lessen, to diminuate the size of the rift, while the buzzing just intensified, its core started beating faster like a panicked heart until the definitive halt. Everything had just come to an end.

* * *

  
« Eurgh. I hate this.»  
It was just a grumble, not Cassandra so he assumed it was someone from their mysterious teammates, but stupidly enough it made Garret feel a lot lighter; indeed, seeing a rift, not that big in comparison of the Breach, but not that small either, explode in goopy shards all over the battle fields, spraying their hair, clothes, weapons with a dark and stinky substance. It would almost make him laugh but it was not the time, nor the place, he thought as his gaze wandered on the lifeless corpes lying nearby.  
His wrist went free.  
  
« What did you do ?»  
His own voice sounded so weak, probably a side-effect from all the efforts furnished and the noise provoked by the rift. The eyes of his interlocutor, as soon as he managed to get a hold of them, were clever. Terribly clever.  
A bit impressed, to be honest, the young mage kept staring at him, waiting for an answer he didn't dare to claim again. With his shaved head (or was he simply bald) he could pass for an old man, whereas his eyes and his features were youthful and betrayed a vivacious energy. Pointed ears, sharp traits, high cheekbones... an elf. He had no vallaslin though, was it their name ? Well, he knew better than dwelling on this matter and ask about elfic pronunciation or rituals and customs, what interested him most right this instant was probably the hint of a staff, hiding behind his back. A fellow mage, so ?  
Curiously he felt less alone. Seeing another one of his kind, even if not from his kin, soothed his mind slightly.  
  
« I did nothing.» He had a pleasant voice, and very clear. Truly, the credit is yours.  
\- At least, this is good for something ! I can help.»  
He had every difficulty not to shrug, his look going from the face of the elf to his own hand, back to normal after discharging into the rift. How could something so small hold so much power ? Magic was sometimes too difficult to apprehend, even for seasoned mages. That was part of the fun, hopefully. It looked so useless, so inoffensive. Not even painful. And why on earth a mage inherited from this thing ? And him in particular.   
  
«Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky.. » Solas' words were followed by a small gesture. « Also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake - and i seems I was correct.   
\- I, you theorized then. You must like gambling. Slipped Garret, a bit unnerved and shoked by his laid-back tone.   
\- Since you're still alive, it means I played well.  
\- Meaning, it could also close the Breach itself, intervened Cassandra, rubbing the dust off her black hair. Isn't it ?  
\- Possibly. The elf replied with ease, a smirk animating the corner of his lips. It really seems you hold to key to our salvation.»  
  
A blush crept up under his freckles, and a billion of thoughts and recriminations were piling up to the brink of his lips, eager to spill on this unfortunate audience. He was not...  
  
«Good to know !»  
That was the voice he heard earlier, complaining about the viscous fallings of their exploit. It was a dwarf, and unexpectedly quite smooth-chined. _Oh come on, don't say stuff like that, you'll sound like an ass_. Garret berated himself for a second, admiring the allure of the blonde dwarf.  
  
«Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever !»  
His bluntness immediately pleased the mage, whose smile, faint at the beginning widened into a large grin. As the other advanced towards him for a greeting, he gladly welcomed him.   
  
«Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.»  
The grunt of Cassandra was audible, something was going on between these two, realised the ginger this time chuckling. With the best manners he could have, he replied:  
  
«It's good meeting you, Varric Thetras.  
\- You may reconsider that stance, in time.  
\- Aww, I'm sure we'll become great friends in the valley, Solas !  
\- So I closed the rift, Garret interrupted the playful banter between elf and dwarf to turn over Cassandra.  
\- Now we go to meet Leliana.   
\- Whaaat a great idea. Bianca is eager to...  
\- Absolutely not, you won't accompany us, Varric. Cassandra harshly stopped him, or she tried to because the Dwarf did not seem to agree very much on that.  
\- Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker ?»  
  
_**Seeker**_ ?  
He needed to get on that, but later. For now, he listened carefully to this merry band of fighters, his eyes nervously coming back to the breach (he did not forget what had been said) and his hand. 

   
«...Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me. And no need to make that disgusted face.  
\- My name is Solas.»  
Cassandra and Varric seemed the type to bicker with each other, that seemed to be the conclusion, hence the introduction from the so-called Solas. Not a very elfic-sounding name, but again Garret had no right to voice his assumptions and personal tastes, not if he wanted to keep everything at the right place. Garret nodded at this very civil approach.  
  
  
«If there are to be introductions, I'm pleased to see you still live !  
\- He means, "I kept this mark from killing you while you slept". Varric to the rescue. For three days.  
\- So you're the one, thank you. You seem to know a great deal about all of this !  
\- Like you, Solas is an Apostate.  
\- Technically, Cassandra, every mage in Thedas is now an Apostate. My travels have allowed me to learn about the Fade, far more than anyone from the Circle could learn. So I came to offer whatever help I can to close the Breach. If we cannot end it, we are all doomed regardless of its origin.»  
As a mage from the Circle, he could feel slightly offended. This guy had mastered the art to make you feel like a complete moron. Taking a breath he could take his chance to continue.  
  
  
«'Seems logical to me. So -- If I can close this Breach, I will.  
\- Let's hope it won't kill you in the process.  
\- That would be sad, indeed. And apparenly the cynism here was infectious.  
\- By the way Cassandra ! Solas went up to the broad-shouldered warrior. You should know, your prisoner is a mage, but I find it really difficult to imagine any mage having such power, to the point of destroying a holy building, killing several hundreds of fidels along the way.  
\- Thank you, Solas; Garret could not help it, relieved that at least one person here was sane enough to acknowledge his version.  
\- You're still not out of this bloody mess, dude.  
\- Thank you Varric, I really needed to hear that. This time, the  _thank you_ was very much sarcastic.   
\- Oh come on, eh.. What's your name again ?   
\- Garret. Garret Trevelyan, not that it matters much ! Anyways, what matters here IS that I'm unable to cause such a mess. And I can close these.. Shitholes.  
\- Rifts, corrected Solas with his placid expression.  
\- Understood. She replied with a curt nod. We must get to the forward camp then, Leliana is waiting.  
\- Oh well, Bianca is excited ! The dwarf reaffirmed his grip onto his crossbow, with a snicker (was it excitement).   
\- The road ahead is blocked, we need to take the path, down the bank. Plus...  
\- We must move quickly, shades must be roaming in the valley, there are more rifts over there.»

 


	6. Pestle and mortar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> &&. we switch again !

« You're summoned at the forward camp.»

   
She could only raise an eyebrow, her hands stopping their ballet for a short moment. Did she understand well ? Being summoned ? That was a strong word, she was merely an aid here. Nevertheless, when everything started, they were quite glad to find among the population of Haven someone not too ill-educated in medecine. After all, Adan was just an alchemist, a good one, but an alchemist, not a doctor in any way... And his communication skills were rather non-existent. Finally she adopted a gentle tone and asked them to repeat, for good measure.  
  
« Pardon me ?  
\- Sister Nightingale requested your presence and your competences at the forward camp. He repeated, softening slightly the demand.  
\- How many people have been injured ?  
\- Too many, my lady. Adan is already there, but another pair of arms would be profitable, like the chief said. I'll escort you !»  
  
The messenger's face was still round and young, no wrinkles, no scars, only tan skin and big round eyes. She could even see the dark curls of his hair under the headpiece and according to his accent, he could very well be from Antiva, or the Rivein. Somewhere beyond the sea.  
Poor boy, forced to witness the decline of this pilgrimage site, one of the most Holy, she thought while opening her apron and slipping inside its ample pockets her small knives, needles, yarn and rags. A few bottles and flasks were hanging from her worn leather belt, their content irradiating a reddish light through the folds of her skirts; powders, mixtures... everything would be useful up there. Without flinching under the brazen stare of her escort, the herbalist gathered pestle and mortar between her lithe arms.  
The girl wore a long dress, probably a beautiful shade of lilac or mauve when it was new and clean, now it turned to be more blueish or even grey and the trim was all tint of mud. The collar was a V-neck, sewn in a way that didn't show much cleavage, and the long sleeves rolled up the elbows allowed more freedom. Buckled tight, her belt supported an impressive equipment: a lancet, flasks, , a quill, some grigris... Some old shoes, a frayed cape and bundle, Taymir or whatever she was called did not seem much of a lady before hand, however whenever you talked to her, this had this tone, this attitude that ensured her a form of respect. You generally listened to her despite her shyness, when she was looking at you with her cool and collected eyes. The latter were blunt and honest, and ... Even intimidating when she started rambling and flailing around. She never let anybody stomp on her feet when it came to medecine though.  
  
«Lead me to them, and quick. I will need to be back tonight for the others.  
\- But... Apparently he was startled by her projects, which appeared to be different from what was initially planned.  
\- I said so. There are children in need here and it is getting colder tonight.  
\- But sister Nightingale was explicit, you're needed for the soldiers...  
\- Do not fret, I will explain it to her if needed, but she will agree if Adan joins in. If we can't take care of the refugees already flocking in Haven, it could worsen the situation ! If one falls sick, there could very well be an epidemic. Adan and I already discussed about this eventuality. There is also an absolute need to negociate for more commodities, and material. Food as well.»  
  
He nodded, aware he could not change her mind. She was apparently known as stubborn here, according to some villagers, however it seemed she was well appreciated here, so it should mean she was fit for the task ? The soldier watched her carefully grab her cloak, tying it under her chin and concealing the damaged skin, before actually moving in direction of the barrow, waiting for them outside the city.  
  
Taymir followed, silent and thoughtful, her boots grating the snow under their feet.  
She had spent the last hour monopolizing a crate right behind a woman's, Threnn she reckoned, makeshift desk, busy grinding a pile of herbs. Heating up the snow to get clean water, washing the leaves and the roots of elfroot and the rachitic bud of embrium she managed to find... It was a delicate operation in this poor place, since in such cold weather, the plants were weaker, thinner; she actually had been very lucky to find what she was looking for. Alas hours of harvest, she only had a meager collection to bring back to the village. They needed too much of it, and the nature was slow, especially up in the Frostback Mountains. It pushed the healer to travel further and further, sometimes even borrowing a horse from the Templars to fulfill her task. Today at least was fruitful, with some half frozen mushrooms and this bud of embrium, both very useful and powerful when combined into a potion. It would help lots.

  
The Chantry doors were locked for her this afternoon, Taymir had no other choices but patiently wait on the forecourt; that was neither a good nor a bad decision to stay here, as a few minutes later, they opened again and brought her answers. This time, all the crowd gathered earlier had a collective murmur. Tall as she was, she had no difficulty to check on what caused a new wave of whispers among the refugees: the infamous survivor of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She already had seen him before, invited in utmost secrecy, but seeing him now in broad day light was new for her, and curious as the others, she watched silently.  
This man was rather small, that was her first thought, or was it the Seeker at his side that dwarfed him ? He had a lot of presence, despite the pathetic appearance he had. His shirt was torn, he wore dirty trousers and his jacket probably saw better days as one sleeve threatened to fall off, yet all compensated by very impressive eyes and a very characteristic face. His whole visage, his neck and the visible portion of his arms were speckled with brownish freckles, offering a vivid contrast between pale skin and these colored spots; his hair were a mess, but a very pretty orange. Short and slightly curly, they spiked all the way up, crowning the young man with flames whenever the light played with them.   
  
They looked at the Breach, and the mimetism was strong, pushing the whole population to cast a look to this abomination in the sky.   
He seemed better than the last time, the herbalist was happy with that.

  
Coming back to the present and shaking her thoughts away Taymir offered her hand to the soldier, already up in the vehicule. Swiftly, he pulled her up to join him before roughly asking her to sit down. They would depart shortly ! Well, he barely waited until she was settled onto the flour packs, and off they went.

And from there, she started reminiscing.

* * *

 

       When they found him up there, Adan was the only one able to help, with the help of this elf, whose name didn't stick in her mind. Both of them were busy, very busy over the prisoner. When a villager committed the mistake to report they had a healer, an herbalist of sort, the taller woman, Lady Pentaghast convoked her right away. She remembered it well. The night had already begun, and away, in the little shack she occupied, close from the lake she could finally savour some peace. The day had been hectic with the explosion and she knew that if she could not sleep at least two hours or three, it would be unbearable for her -- the following days would only bring more and more work, so at least she tried to enjoy it while it lasted. A scout presented himself at his door, requesting (that was the polite word) her presence to the chantry. The blonde was not even allowed to change, as the matter was very urgent.   
So that was cladded in her thin white night gown and her cape, that Taymir and this messenger rejoined the building, discreetly and hastily. The tension was so thick she could taste it on her tongue, and she did not even have the time to set a foot in that she was picked up by three, or was it four soldiers ? They asked her questions, so much questions that Taymir thought her head would spin. Her name, her age, why she was at Haven, did she go to Denerim before, had she any ties with the population, was she familiar with the mountains, did she ever travel outside the country... Why on earth would they summon her here, only to ask her questions ? The more they asked, the more uneasy she grew, and when they led her to a familiar door, the herbalist could feel tears prickling her eyes. The anxiety gnawing on her insides was too strong to endure for the frail lady.  
Was she jailed ? Was she convicted of anything ?   
  
  
« Lady Pentaghast. The girl is here.»  
Oh, her profile was frighteningly beautiful, dimly lit by the candles in the corridor, her jaw contracted and her lips tightly shut. The woman was looking at them, with a stern expression, and vaguely nodded at her presence. She did not even mention her outfit or even her unkempt waves of hair, falling all over her back and her chest, she also did not say anything about the scared gleam of her greyish eyes. Perhaps she did not notice ? Perhaps she appeared completely professional despite the lack of attitude. In her memories, Taymir felt really sick, even so the subject of this nocturnal meeting appeared soon to be completely unrelated to her.  
  
«You are from Haven, isn't it ? Her voice was deep, and tolerated no impertinence.  
\- Y.. Yes my Lady. She hoped it was the right way to address her.  
\- People told us you knew how to cure their ailments, with herbs and various recipes. Is that right ?  
\- Yes, my Lady. I live in Haven for years now, and I know these mountains. I can find ressources for potions, elixirs, poultices.. I.. May I ask..  
\- We need your help.»  
  
Sharp, blunt, the explanations were not needed apparently, that was what Taymir understood and with a coy shake of her head, did not dare asking anything else. That seemed to please the brunette apparently. Quickly she turned on her heels, leaving the poor girl behind and forced to run after her.   
  
«We already have Adan. And another person looking after him.  
\- Him ?  
\- A prisoner. You will have to keep quiet about him. We do not need any funny business around here, you get it ?  
\- Yes, my Lady. You need me to help the two others ?  
\- You will abide to their commands, search for ressources, help them preparing whatever they need for the.. Guy.  
\- And for the others.. For the refugees ? I will need...  
\- He is top priority.»  
  
The blonde stopped, her heart shattering at these words. Pentaghast glanced over her. A sigh. And less blunt, she pursued on a muffled tone.  
  
«Unless you want more and more injured to press into this town, unless you want those dear to you die very soon because of what is happening outside... You better treat him as priority. My men, and Sister Nightingale's will escort you.»  
Meaning: _you're being watched, don't mess with us_.   
  
The light feeling following the request Pentaghast made to her was brutally replaced with the sensation of heavy lead. Rubbing her hands together (as always whenever she felt uncomfortable), the young woman slowly shook her head again, signigying she indeed understood well what was asked from her. _Was this man so important_ ? Did this deserve so much secrecy that even the villagers were forbidden to witness it, forcing their healer to walk by night to avoid being seen, slaloming behind the braziers ?   
So with a dignified look, despite her disheveled mane and her nightgown -- barely long enough to cover her calves, Taymir answered:  
  
«Thy will be accomplished.»

* * *

  
«Serah, we're near the forward Camp !»  
Her head perked up at the announcement, lulled for the last hour by the lurches of the road. The rumors of fights and buzzing activity were audible in the air; by instinct her hands clutched on her belongings. It was not a joke, she muttered when they passed several rows of lifeless forms, hidden under stained clothes. It's been days she did not hear a joke, to be honest, and even if she was the dry wit kind... She could use a laugh !  
When they stepped on the bridge, it was a true hive.   
  
People were walking, pacing, running from left to right, right to left, hey left, they came back. Some of them were praying on the side, others had setted some makeshift tables to lay down huge maps, rolls and rolls of parchemine and books. An open chest was sitting in a corner, filled with all kinds of papers and clothings (mantels for the majority), where rummaged everybody.  
Wait.  
  
The herbalist abruptly stopped, while her escort whimpered: they had to meet Leliana, and quick. She was willing to bet the guard was more afraid of the Mistress than the Breach itself. However the unexpected ginger curls that suddenly popped up caught her attention more than a potential earbashing ! They were four, four individuals, and different from each other: a mage (the elf), a thief, a Dwarf she never saw until now, Lady Pentaghast and the survivor.  
  
« --- meet Nightingale, then we will be all ready to travel until the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  
\- Oh yes Seeker, I bet she'll be thrilled to see us. Don't you see how much fun she has with Roderick right now ?   
\- Varric.  
\- Don't you Varric me, Seeker, you can't charm me.  
\- Ugh. Pentaghast's eyes were rolled as she spat out her disgust.  
\- Nonetheless, intervened the peaceful and mature voice of the elf, we need to find enough materials to replenish our supplies.  
\- W.. What do you want ?»  
  
Taymir needed a whole thirty seconds to comprehend what just happened here: lips slightly ajar, she just apostrophized the team of warriors, in front of everyone. Contravening then to her most basic character traits, she felt an awkward blush coloring her torso, from her bust to the tip of her ears, burning her nose in an embarassing fire; the worst was that indeed, her mewling voice managed to make them turn away from the wooden chest, looking at her with a mixture of surprise and misplaced hilarity.  
The small one was the quickest to react.  
  
«If you have a pint of ale hidden somewhere, I would be the happiest dwarf of these mountains you know ?  
\- I.. H..Eh.. Oh that was glorious, she could not even articulate two words. Hum.  
\- You really should be ashamed to embarass such a lovely lady, Varric.»  
The survivor jokingly told off the dwarf, and his eyes gleaming among the filth on his face, he flashed a smile to Taymir, who had no other option than mimick him (in a clumsier manner alas). He looked well enough, for someone who went through a rift a few days before ! Vigorously nodding again, unable to utter anything else, she approached them while rummaging in her apron.  
  
  
«Trevelyan, this is one of the healers helping us.  
\- A-Thank you Lady Pentaghast ! Taymir was spazzing words, even if she was trying not to.  
\- Lady Pentaghast, wow, that's something I was not used to hear ! The snark of the dwarf's voice was definitely noticeable, making Taymir's embarassment growing stronger.  
\- Maker, I swear...  
\- You have a name then, lovely maiden ?»  
She could not for the love of the Creator say if he was joking or not. Trevelyan was looking at her without straying, his dirty face full of his infectious grin, and seemed to really expect a response from her, leaving Pentaghast and Varric arguing in the background like he had spent years with them and was used to it. The thought of having children in front of her formed in her mind and made her chuckle a short instant, the redness of her cheeks still not flowing back. Imagining a toddler with a dwarf and an elf friend was rather strange and cute.  _Enough digressing, girl !_  
  
  
«Taymir, Serah, simply Taymir.  
\- Taymir, is that Fereldian ?  
\- From the North, yes, Serah Trevelyan. I am not from Haven.  
\- I think I already saw you somewhere...  
\- You probably crossed my way or saw me in the crowds during the last three of four days, Serah...  
\- Trevelyan, if you like, we do not have the whole day for this expedition. The tall lady sighed very hard, reminding to the playground that they actually needed to go.  
\- W-- Wait, I have some.. Eh.. Elfroot for you. I .. have roots, you can like.. Chew on them, it will revigorate you quickly ! I also have a home made elixir, it can bring you back from a bad knock out. You only have to rub it on the lips, or the skin, right under the nose; it smells very spicy, I added some embrium in it so be careful and parcimonious ! And.. I have some Deep Road Mushrooms.. I made them come from Orlais, b- before all this.»  
  
She had stuttered at the beginning but quickly started rambling. That was always the case whenever she spoke about herbs, flowers, medicine... _Unbearable_ , she would scream internally while drawing a lopsided smile; the scar on her lip attracted the attention and gave to her smile a special vibe as the flesh was pulled up, transforming an innocent grin into something more like a rictus. She suddenly hoped she did not look too repulsive, her skin burning under her heavy blonde mane.   
The ginger walked toward her, his arm wide open.  _What are you even doing_! She was almost tempted to giggle, yet she did not give into it.  
  
«Lady Taymir, give me all of it ! Very thetrical, Trevelyan camped in front of her, his limbs brushing her shoulders.  
\- All of it ? Couldn't help Solas, with a chuckle himself.  
\- Yeah, I think I will get a few scratches up there. Especially if I start fighting with Ser Rodewhatever is his name. So I can chew on those, right ?  
\- Mh-mh ! ( _Oh that was elegant, Tay'_ ) I mean, you put it in your mouth and you.. Masticate ?  
\- Well, that's chewing, Poppy. Varric smirked, and she had all the difficulties of the world not to look at her shoes.  
\- Don't bug her, dwarf. _Pentaghast's voice_. She went there from Haven to deliver these. Spare the ridiculous nicknames.  
\- Thank you then, my Lady !»  
  
The dwarf seemed to have a benevolent air about him, and when she dropped everything she had in their pockets (minus the supplies they needed for the other) all of them appeared pretty happy. Tired but happy ! Stressed up, cynical, bickering, but still... A good-looking team. Not listening to them particularly as they were walking off to the war table settled on the bridge, the blonde girl let her eyes wander for a bit, to linger on the mage back.  
She pursed her lips. They let him live ? Good. His staff, well nestled on his back, was a dead giveaway about his true nature. He was.. Handsome ? The healer did not recall him being so well of his person. When she thought about it, the last time was not really pleasant for him.

* * *

«Please dab his forehead.  
\- We need more cold water. Her voice was muffled, like she was whispering a secret.  
\- Tell the guard you will go, from the moment the female warrior is watching, there will be no problem.»  
  
His flesh was covered by a shining coat of sweat.  
His whole body was soaked, wriggling in pain on the hay bedding they arranged earlier. They had discarded his clothes, those were glowing in a corner, full of this green dust and smeling like death; the man was then practically naked. Nails scraping the paving stones, he had his eyes wide open, unfocused, hazy.   
A man was sitting by his side. Solas.  
The elf was carefully applying some elfroot paste on the bruises, an unsophisticated treatment Taymir whipped up at the last second in her shack. Very unceremoniously it was layered on the damaged skin after watering down the grinded powder into mush; but to obtain this refreshing and highly efficient mixture, they needed fresh water, recolted from melted snow, and the cell was so heavily guarded that the healer feared even walking up to the guards and asking to go out. Still in her night garbs, covered by a thin cover in addition of her cloak, she was assisting the elf from the best of her ability.  
  
Many times, he had looked at her with the most suspicious looks, remaining silent behind his pressed lips, only to come back to his tending. Their patient was in pain, even in his slumber he kept groaning, moaning at best, and literally crying out loud at worst. Nightmares haunted him, pictures of horror and anguish tearing his mind apart... eyes, the word kept coming back in his mouth.  _Too many eyes_ , she wondered what that could possibly mean though, her hand very gently wiping off his forehead and his cheeks,  _that was so strange_.  
In between her ministrations, very often the door would crack wide open. Pentaghast and another woman, petite and hooded, bluntly requested news about their  _prisoner_. Disappointment were on every face for the first two days.  
  
Those were the most dangerous, the ones where Taymir and her companion did not take much rest, relaying each other at the side of this difficult case. Micro-breaks permitted them to go through, and the security at their doors randomly tightening. Rumours had it there were some...  _Troublemakers_ , to put it civilly. By luck, Taymir did not run into one, and if they actually managed to break in, it was during one of her rare excursions outside (she had to get supplies and it was never without a group of soldiers after her)..  
_Maker, please get us out from this_. She was scared, scared of the Breach looming over them. Some sisters were preaching about a divine punishment, because the mages were free. Only a shudder could shake her body at the thought.  
  
The elf was asleep.  
_Finally. Serah, you've been up all night._ She was tempted to give him the blanket but she feared waking him up. His eyes were closed, his whole stance rigid against the stone, where he settled his back. His chin was lulling, touching his chest, halfly concealed by a scarf. It was a calm morning, their charge considerably calmed down in the course of the night. They even had been able to breathe a bit more easily at this scene.  
  
Cool digits went against the injured man's temples. They rested here, feeling the fever and a frenetic heartbeat under their pads. His breath was laborious, even if it was easier this day. They still had a long way to go, from this precarious state to an acceptable one.  
  
«Shh.»  
Low, very low her voice echoed for her only. His eyes had a beautiful color, halfly opened to watch her without really seeing her -- they were quite glassy -- ; he was not strongly built. Definitely not a soldier, he even had some stomach, suggesting how well-fed he was before.   
  
«Who even are you ?»  
_He was at the Conclave, and fell out of this world. Nobody could do that. Except..._  
  
This consideration traversed her mind once again. Magic was now frown upon.  
There were no mages allowed in Haven today, at the exception of this elf in front of her. Unvoluntarily maybe her gaze hardened. He was not especially hiding his condition, everything in him screamed he was an Apostate, from his attitude to the staff on his back. And Solas especially was hired thanks to his knowledge, extirpating the bright-haired lad from death's hold; at her entrance, the first time, she was both subjugated and revolted by this open usage of magic, as long filaments of mana were hanging from the tips of Solas' scrawny fingers.  
Her own frail hands massaged softly the sticky scalp, alleviating from the best she could, the awful heat of the inert body, her cool skin was causing a rupture of temperature, a way to bring his down. Taymir only had to focuse. relax, and focuse on helping him.  
Little by little, after perhaps nearly half an hour, she could sese his flesh gradually become fresher. It was all assumptions from a country girl, yet..  
  
«It always works. You won't be the first to resist to me.»  
And there she talked, alone in the room without anybody conscious enough to listen to her, not that she was angry at it. Silence was much better than a crowded room, and she tended to stutter less. Double the benefits !  
  
«You'll better come back to your senses, because Lady Pentaghast is.. Impatient. Well I'm not sure it will motivate you though, but I heard she could be pretty enthusiastic.»  
Her wonky smile appeared in between curtains of pale hair. Sure, the Seeker, as they called her, was quite the coleric type apparently. Whatever this boy did, she sure would not like to be in his shoes, she whispered, dragging the linen up his shoulders.  
  
«She is.»  
  
Taymir swallowed hard, her hands shaking a bit. She goofed again apparently.  
  
«Oh.. Did I wake you up ?  
\- Yes.  
\- My apologies.. I.. I just. She was on the verge to spill on excuses.  
\- It was time to get up anyways. His tone was not charged with any animosity -- only factual while he stretched out like a cat. Morning already ?  
\- I think so, there were the signals for the morning office, outside. They must be blessing our remparts.  
\- I see.»  
The silence settled in, the elf staying immobile against the wall. He was just looking at them, seemingly unaffected by what was around him, to the point that Taymir questioned if he really was awake or still asleep. His next sentence assured her that yes, he was really with her.  
  
  
«Demons are there, on the mountains.  
\- Oh the fabulous instinct of mages, right ?»  
Her reply was unexpectedly sarcastic, and quick. The girl was not known for being rude, but the elf's general truths had the skill to irk her somewhat. It was not even on purpose, i just  _got_ to her, for no reasons. _Of course would there be demons. A cursed Breach was open right over their heads._  
And the expression on his face was undescribable, half piqued, half amused.. It was very unsettling. And the feeling would not go as he pursued, impassible and strange.  
  
  
  
  
«Perhaps ?»


End file.
